


Good Ol' Fashion Nightmare

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John wanted to do was introduce his new boyfriend to Sherlock. That should've been his first clue that nothing was going to go right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitations

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> This is what staring at Paul McGann gets me in life. Absolutely nowhere.

John was on the verge of panicking as he cleaned up the flat to look as though Sherlock hadn’t been conducting a marathon of experiments. There were enough discarded body parts and organs in the kitchen to make people think they were running a butcher’s shop while the living room still had the lingering smell of lilacs and bile, a combination that John had been trying to combat with all the air fresheners they could afford for the past day to no avail.

Setting up everything he might need for tea, he cast a weary glance at the fridge. Takeaway would definitely be on the menu for the evening given the fact that he couldn’t actually open the fridge without exposing Sherlock’s collection of insanity. No, if he had any chance of things continuing to go well, he would have to make his life seem a normal as possible.

“You know you’re being ridiculous. It isn’t as though any of your girlfriend’s last long, regardless of what you do,” Sherlock called out from where he was using John’s computer in the living room.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, John closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in an effort to steady his nerves. “Sherlock, this is important to me.”

“Yes, I know. Behave, don’t show off. Honestly, I’m not a child,” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

“And this isn’t some girl either,” John warned.

He could practically feel his stomach clench up when Sherlock looked at him in that way that meant he was processing. After so much time living with the other man, he knew when Sherlock discarded the idea that John was rather serious about his new girlfriend in favour of the more rational choice that John’s girlfriend was a guy. Not that John was ashamed of such a fact, it was just that, after their first awkward talk about sexuality when they met, he didn’t want Sherlock over generalizing and thinking that he had a thing for him when he didn’t. Sherlock was a nice enough guy, but John knew nothing was ever likely to happen between them.

Sitting up, Sherlock slowly raised his eyebrows in shock before nodding. “Well, either way, people you date don’t last long and I doubt he’ll be any different.”

“Thank you. Now, no talking of cases or dead bodies or experiments. And please, for the love of God, don’t be an arse. I like him and I don’t want you ruining this.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Ford. And that’s him,” John said rushing off the moment he heard the door.

Standing in front of the door, he took a deep breath and fixed his hair as best he could. Everything was going to go great, he was certain of that much. Shaking out his arms nervously, he nodded to himself before opening the door.

“Oh... It’s just you.”

“Pleasure to see you as well, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said, flashing that polite smile before walking in. Looking around, he seemed to focus in on John for a moment before giving him a look of sympathy. “Having him meet Sherlock? Dreadfully sorry.”

Staring in shock, John shook his head, deciding that the last thing he needed to do was question how Mycroft managed to figure out that he was going out with a bloke. Instead he merely pointed up toward the flat. “He’s in the living, messing about on my laptop.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said before heading up.

Leaning against the door, John groaned at his bad luck since he knew that no good would come from Mycroft popping in. Mostly because the man didn’t pop in unless he had something he wanted Sherlock to take care of, which often meant that they would be working a case, much to John’s annoyance. Because, even if Sherlock waited until Mycroft left, he was likely to start in on things rather quickly simply because of the fact that John had a date and the Holmes family had unconsciously mastered the art of cock-blocking.

But there was no point sulking by the door, so with a heavy sigh, John made his way up the stairs, unfazed by the sight of Mycroft and Sherlock staring each other down as usual. Going into the kitchen, he started the kettle, pulling out a box of Earl Grey.

“I don’t care, Mycroft. I’m not doing it,” Sherlock snapped, playing uninterested as usual.

Giving his brother a rather disappointed glared, Mycroft said, “It’s important to mummy.”

Which was so not what John was expecting. Leaning against the doorway, he decided to take the risk of interrupting their conversation. “Mummy? You’re here about your mum?”

“She wants us, both of us, to visit,” Mycroft said, stressing the fact that Sherlock was expected to go along.

“I’ve better things to do than listen to her talk about how she misses us while you try not to stuff your face on the cook’s food. Plus you just know he’ll be there.”

“That’s your reason for avoiding this? Him?” Mycroft asked, rolling his eyes at the thought.

“Don’t make it seem as though you don’t do the same.”

“I don’t.”

“No, you go and then hide in the study while mummy spends all her time fawning over him,” Sherlock said, disdain dripping from every word out of his mouth.

“Unlike you, avoiding the entire family out of fear that someone else might get all your attention,” Mycroft mocked bitterly.

John was about ready to accept their bickering as his only entertainment for the evening when he heard the door again. Bolting up, he rushed over to the two brothers, standing between them to prevent either from focusing on anyone but him.

“Alright. That should be him this time. First guy I’ve brought here and I’ve already told Sherlock to behave and, while I know I probably don’t have to tell you this, behave, Mycroft. Don’t embarrass me, don’t observe anything and don’t be smug. That goes for both of you and, please, I’m begging you don’t—“

“John, this one’s here for you. Quite the looker he is too,” Mrs. Hudson said from the door, giving him a wink before walking off.

Paling as his new boyfriend walked into the room, John walked over to him, trying to keep his face from going red as a tomato. As though the smell of bile in a flowery field wasn’t bad enough, he was certain both Holmes brothers were watching as he greeted the brunette. Probably deducing everything possible from his stubble and dark coat. That he was in need of a hair cut from the way his dark brown hair was beginning to curl. Hell, they were probably even working out if he was merely a proxy for Sherlock based on the purple scarf around his neck, even if the man was shorter.

It was a million and one things that John didn’t actually care about the moment that his date leaned in and kissed him, completely oblivious to the other people in the room. Cupping that stubbled jaw, John tried to forget them as well until the other man pulled away with a smile.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, Ford.”

Smile never fading, his date looked up at the two brothers, instantly reminding John that he had to make introductions. Or rather, he should’ve, if not for the way that his date walked over to the two taller men, hands clasped behind his back.

“Pleasure to see you boys. Although, I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you here, My.”

“You know them?” John asked, the shock in his voice only matched by the sheer fear of how the man might know them. If the guy turned out to be another Moriarty, he was certain he was never going to bother dating again.

“Oh, yes.” Scratching at his jaw, the man looked at John with furrowed brows, as though he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “This is going to sound so terrible, John. And I am very sorry for not mentioning it, but... Well, they’re my younger brothers.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Mycroft chuckled as he shook his head. “I’ve been an idiot. You coming to town, relaying messages from mummy, staying overnight in a hotel. Blonde hair on your shoulder. You were dating John and didn’t want little ‘lock to know because—“

“Well, he does, doesn’t he? You just thought I was taking up with some random bloke. Honestly, My, I did make it obvious for you.”

“Let’s focus on me,” John said as he walked over to his date. “Ford, you’re their brother?”

“Yes. I told you my name was Ford Holmes. That was... a small lie.”

“Omission,” Mycroft offered with a chuckle.

“Mycroft, no interruptions,” the shorter man demanded, raising one finger up in warning. “Ford is short for Sherrinford. Are you upset?”

“I am,” Sherlock said, finally finding his voice. Standing up, he moved to stand in from to his older brother, staring down at him angrily. “You’re sleeping with my blogger and you knew from the start he was mine.”

“Sherly, don’t be territorial.”

“Don’t call me that, Sherrin!”

“Boys,” John barked. Satisfied when the both look at him, obviously cowed by the tone of his voice, he rubbed at his eyes. “Right, first off, I’m not some toy to be fought over. Now, all of you, sit on the sofa.”

Mycroft scoffed. “I understand you’re... coping, but I don’t see why—“

“I said sit,” he commanded, using a tone that had once been reserved for wayward troops.

Without so much as a peep, all three Holmes brother, and dear God there were three of them, sat down on the sofa. Mycroft immediately took the spot between Sherrinford and Sherlock, the former looking apologetic while Sherlock simply settled for sulking like the baby of the family he apparently was.

Taking a deep breath, John shook his head as he looked toward the ceiling for some kind of guidance or reason for the complexities that riddled his life as far as this one family was concerned. Pulling up his chair before tem, he sat down and looked them over.

“God, you do look like them,” he muttered sadly, hating himself for missing something so obvious.

“Yes, well, more Sherlock than Mycroft. He looks like father, though, I suppose we both have father’s nose,” Sherrinford said, obviously trying to alleviate some of the tension in the air.

“That and Sherrinford never actually grew,” Sherlock sniped. “What kind of an older brother is the shorter than his younger brothers?”

“You’re older than Mycroft?” John asked, ignoring Sherlock, for the most part.

Looking toward the man at his left, Sherrinford sighed. “Yes. Three years older making me... a good decade older than Sherlock.”

“And you knew who I was when we met?”

“No. I figured it out later.”

“When? Minutes later? Hours? Days?”

“When I was chatting you up at that pub the night we met. You mentioned having an impossible flatmate when explaining why you were there with... Stamford. Final piece falling into place, so to speak.”

“But you don’t... You’re not...”

“Don’t be daft, John,” Sherlock scoffed. “He’s better at observation than me or Mycroft. Although, where Mycroft decided to use his powers for boring things like running the country, Sherrinford never left mummy’s fond embrace.”

“Yes, Sherlock, I have an Oedipus complex. I secretly want to fill father’s place in her life, except for te part where I have no interest in women. I suppose that would make it more a Norman Bates complex.”

“You know he doesn’t understand that reference, Ford,” Mycroft chastised.

“I wouldn’t mind explaining, but he’ll simply delete it because I said it.”

“Hey,” John interrupted, not wanting to have to put up with three of them being snide and childish. “So you knew all along that I was living with Sherlock. Why not tell me?”

Sherrinford laughed at that. “Oh yes. John, I know we’ve just started dating, but I felt I should tell you that the man child you live with is my baby brother, who despises me because of some childish feud.”

“That’s pretty much how Mycroft introduced himself.”

“He would still be upset over that,” Sherrinford said, glancing fondly at Sherlock, who simply glared back. Looking back at John, he shrugged. “But, for the most part, I fail to see how any of this is relevant or important. We’ve been happy together for four months now and I enjoy you. I enjoy going out, staying in, having sex.”

“Disgusting,” Sherlock complained.

“And if you no longer share that feeling, that would be fine. I know the loyalty my brothers tend to inspire in others.”

“Mostly because of that drunken night you ‘accidentally’ shagged Mycroft’s boyfriend,” Sherlock pointed out in that cocksure way of his.

Rising to his feet, Mycroft dusted himself off before nodding to John. “On that note, I think I’ll leave before my life can be brought any further into this. Sherrinford, Sherlock.”

Watching in shock as the man left, John glanced between Sherlock, who suddenly seemed a lot more interested in the conversation and the mix of amusement and guilt on Sherinford’s.

“He knew. He’s known for awhile about that...”

“Accident?” Sherlock offered helpfully. “Where you just slipped and fell into that poor bloke repeatedly.”

“Sherlock, does the idea of sex still make you this uncomfortable?”

“I am not afraid of sex.”

“And I am not afraid of lions, but theories are so very different from practise, wouldn’t you agree?”

“John, be sure to call me back in when you break up with him,” Sherlock said before leaving the room as well.

Sighing, John got up from his seat and sat down next to Sherrinford. He was still more than a bit upset that the guy hadn’t even told him that he had all but planned for his flat becoming the battlegrounds for whatever World War it was that the Holmes boys had managed to work up to, but when Sherrinford wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the top of his head, John found some of that anger fading.

“You knew all along and didn’t tell me. Didn’t even hint at it,” he pointed out, more to remind himself than anything else.

Nodding in agreement, though, Sherrinford smiled against his head. “I thought you might want to break up for Sherlock’s sake. Didn’t actually want that. Didn’t want you hiding this from him either.”

“I’m shagging his brother.”

“Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been Mycroft.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” John said, resisting the urge to laugh.

“I meant that in the sense that Sherlock would’ve been more wounded about that. Not in the sense that Mycroft has put on half a stone after rapidly losing two since I last saw him,” Sherrinford corrected him, looking almost offended that John would think that he would insult his younger brother.

 “What other horrible secrets am I bound to learn about you?” John asked, feeling that it was a fair question given the bombshell that had just been dropped on him hat evening.

“Depends on how long you stick around,” Sherrinford said with a shrug. “Odds are, they’ll be a lot worse than this. Of course, you’ve killed a man to keep my brother from killing himself, so... You can’t really judge.”

“How do you know that?” John asked, sitting up to look him in the eyes.

“I’m cleverer than Sherlock and Mycroft. Do you really care for me to explain?”

“No. God no. I’m just going to get a takeaway menu. Thai food alright?”

“Of course. And John?” Sherrinford asked, finally settling in as he took off his coat and scarf.

“Yes?”

“How would you like to spend a week at the Holmes household?”

“You mean when Sherlock and Mycroft are there because your mum misses them?” He questioned nervously.

“Yes.”

It was the same sort of ‘would you like to meet my family’ question John had been pondering for awhile himself. After all, they’d been together for awhile and things were a lot more serious than John would’ve ever imagined. Except, where John would be introducing Sherrinford to his too loving family and drunken  sister, John got the vague feeling he would be stripped and put back together more times than he could count with all the Holmes boys watching over. He didn’t even want to think of how their mother would treat him.

“Takeaway. Gotta order that now,” he said, rushing off to the kitchen.

“So, should I pretend you said yes since you will over the next 102 hours or wait?”

“Uh... Waiting sounds good,” John said, far too flustered by the entire situation. “And can you go back to being less Holmes like?”

“Of course. And order dumplings. I do so love Thai dumplings,” Sherrinford called out.

John nodded to himself as he looked over the menu for dumplings. Sure, Sherrinford was right about him giving in, although the fact that the man worked it down to the hours worried John about as much as the fact that he couldn’t stop his mind from thinking about the fact that Sherrinford was just another Holmes or that he looked suspiciously like an older version of Sherlock to some degree. Although, Sherrinford wasn’t currently acting like a child who’s toy was being taken away. Not that he had to since John was dating him.

Clenching his eyes shut, he banged his head against the fridge repeatedly, cursing everything and everyone for the Holmes family and their stupid need to ruin his life. It was times like this that made him wish that Moriarty would’ve just killed him. At least then he wouldn’t have to mentally prepare for what he was certain would be the hardest week of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

If he hadn’t found himself on the receiving end of Sherlock’s ire, John would’ve found the man’s ability to hold such a petty grudge rather remarkable. He would’ve even found the thought that Sherlock could stay angry at him rather amusing since it wasn’t how things typically went. More often than not, it was him who was angry with the detective, usually after the man did something he didn’t consider particularly offensive at the time. But ever since he had introduced his new boyfriend to Sherlock, he’d been on Sherlock’s bad side.

And it was hardly warranted, John rationalized, considering the fact that the only one to know the true identity of his boyfriend happened to be the man in question. If he had known that Sherrinford was the eldest Holmes, he was certain he would’ve done something very different than lament about his flatmate for hours before going back to the man’s hotel. Well, he wouldn’t have gone back to Sherrinford’s hotel, at the very least.

But none of that mattered because, no matter how often he tried to convince Sherlock that he hadn’t knowingly fallen into a four month relationship with his brother, Sherlock still acted like a small child who was being forced to play nice. Something perfectly reasonable for Sherlock when not directed at John.

“What do you see in him?”

Looking over at where Sherlock sat, plucking aimlessly at his violin, John gave him a confused look before piecing together the fact that they were apparently having a conversation about his love life. Turning away from his laptop, he sighed and assumed that this is what single parents starting to date again had to go through.

“You know, he is your brother. I’m certain you’re aware of the kind of guy he is.”

“Oh yes. Oxford educated, briefly worked as a museum curator before father died, then he returned home to look after the house and mummy, firmly putting his years of school to waste.”

“...I meant personality wise.”

“He’s a secretive, kiss arse with a vindictive streak,” Sherlock said, plucking at an out of tune string.

Wincing at the sound, John sat back in his chair. “He’s caring, bright, thoughtful.”

“He’s not thoughtful. He’s a snake. He takes people apart with the sole purpose of presenting himself as the perfect person. Nothing short of cocktail personality disorder.”

“Right, so he’s a sociopath too, but a nice one?”

“I’m nice.”

Smiling, John shook his head. “Sherlock, I’m dating him because he’s brilliant. He may be a bit secretive, but everyone has flaws.”

“Sherrinford has plenty of those.”

“So do you. Look, I like him and I’m sorry that I happen to be dating your brother. I really didn’t know, but, given that I have no intentions to break up with him, can you try be happy for me?”

Plucking a string harder than usual, Sherlock rested the violin in his lap, eyes focused straight ahead. “We’re done talking about this. We have a visitor.”

Deciding not question Sherlock’s mercurial moods, John turned back to his laptop, determined to update his blog or check his email. At the very least, it gave the impression that one of them did something with their days while also taking his mind off the futile conversations he tended to engage his friend in.

“Sherrinford,” Sherlock said, glaring at the man the moment he walked into the room.

Smiling back at his youngest brother, Sherrinford nodded his greeting to him. “Sherlock. Hello John.

“Hi Ford. We staying here tonight?”

“Have you told John that you’re leaving tomorrow to go back home?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sherrinford nodded happily, as though Sherlock was making some attempt at polite conversation instead of just trying to turn them against each other.

“I have. I’ve also told him about the most amazing cuppa I’ve ever had yesterday. Simple Earl Grey, but the milk and sugar were in the perfect increments, steeped for just the right amount of time. It was like well performed sex,” Sherrinford explain, the look of awe as he recalled the entire thing close to rapturous.

“Yeah. Your brother’s a poet when it comes to tea.”

Sighing heavily, Sherrinford leaned against the door jamb as he fixed Sherlock with a rather bored look. “Sherlock, do resist commenting on John’s poetry skills,” he said as the detective began to open his mouth.

Picking at his violin strings again, Sherlock looked at Sherrinford as though the man had asked him to do some possible task. As though the idea of remaining silent on John’s attempts at poetry was some kind of crime against nature, much like how he tended to act as though John’s poetry was a crime against the written word. The fact that Sherrinford seemed almost apologetic for the grand task he had asked of his brother was all the cue John needed to ignore them.

“On that note, I’m going back to my email,” he said, turning his attentions back to his computer screen.

 “How have you been, Sherlock?” Sherrinford asked.

“I’m not going so any attempt you might make to convince me otherwise is useless, Sherrinford.”

Pleasantries weren’t Sherlock’s forte, especially with his family from the looks of it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he began to play his violin. Actually play rather than play a series of sour notes in an effort to get their visitor to leave.

Shrugging off the comment, Sherrinford didn’t seem particularly bothered by his brother’s claims though. He merely pushed himself away from the doorway, casually making his way over to the mantelpiece. Picking up the skull, Sherlock kept there, he looked it over, posed as if he was ready to spout out lines about how well he had known it. “Duly noted. I suppose I’ll just be upstairs with John,” he said, putting it back down as he focused his attention on the doctor, who was trying to ignore them both.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, playing picking up in tempo. “That’s your plan? Threaten indecent acts with John upstairs?”

“It would seem to be a rather clever one,” Sherrinford confessed after giving it a bit of thought. “Stealing your blogger form his very important task of not replying to his sister’s email, even if it the third time he read the same email from an old army mate of his, sixth time he’s read the same line since I’ve started pointing out his actions.”

“Stop it. I’m not in this,” John demanded, despite closing his laptop.

“Of course you are,” Sherrinford countered. “You decided to date me and have yet to terminate our relationship which makes dearest Sherlock rather upset.”

“Take him. I don’t need John at the moment anyways,” Sherlock said, waving his brother off with his bow.

John almost wished that he had never met either Holmes man as he turned toward them, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to slip out of the conversation again.“It’s one thing to treat me like a toy, but can you at least make it sound like I’m a desirable toy? Or a human being?” He questioned Sherlock. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t done enough to warrant being treated like a random bloke off the street at the very least instead of some ratty old toy that was falling apart at the seams.

“I would think you were desired a great deal by Sherrinford, considering his little ploy here,” Sherlock sneered.

“It’s true. I do desire you, at this very moment, in fact. Preferably upstairs in your bedroom.”

“Ford!”

It was one thing for the man to make implications to Sherlock to annoy him like the overgrown child all Holmes men apparently were at heart, but that was certainly pushing the limits. John could practically feel himself starting to blush at the comment, even if he was a bit flattered by the sentiment.

Rolling his eyes like a weary parent, Sherrinford crossed his arms over his chest and gave the both a rather frustrated look. “The amount of filth that lurks in both of your minds is appalling. I want to talk to you away from Sherlock,” he chastised.

“What it is that you can’t say in front of me, Sherrinford?” Sherlock asked, perking up at the thought that there might be a secret he wasn’t in on.

Smiling smugly as Sherlock realized that he had just done exactly as his brother had expected, Sherrinford chuckled. “I wanted to know if John has decided on whether or not he’d be coming to meet mummy. After all, Mycroft will be there with his paramour.”

“What?” Sherlock and John asked in unison.

Of course, while John was merely surprised that Mycroft had someone that he was bringing along since he didn’t peg the man as the type to make lasting relationships if he didn’t have to, Sherlock seemed rather infuriated by the idea.

“Yes,” Sherrinford said. Giving John a pleading look, he asked, “So, John, are you coming?”

“Uh... I don’t know. I don’t want to... make a bad impression or be the biggest idiot in the room.”

After all, if he had to only worry about meeting Sherrinford’s mum, he might have been alright. Nervous as hell, but there was a hardly a mother out there who didn’t like him. Plenty of fathers, but even they came around eventually. But the fact that there would still be Mycroft and Sherrinford and the weird way the Holmes brothers seemed to communicate in general made him feel about as comfortable as a fish out of a water. Just the idea of it made him long fondly for the days when the worst thing he had to worry about was getting killed.

“John, that’s hardly possible.”

“Of course not. Lestrade will be there,” Sherlock complained.

“Why would... Mycroft is dating Lestrade?” John questioned the feeling that he missed something obvious overcoming him again.

“You didn’t know that?” Sherrinford asked, looking as though he was certain that John had been informed of that. Dropping the matter, he leaned against the mantle, scratching at his jaw.. “Oh... Well, this is awkward. I do so try to keep Sherlock from outing Mycroft but he’s apparently made a hobby of it.”

“I don’t out him,” Sherlock argued vehemently.

“You’re the one who announced rather loudly to our parents and a number of guests just what Mycroft had been up to with the Kensington boy that Christmas.”

“I was ten,” he said, clearly thinking that a reasonable excuse. Starting in on another song he added, “And he had eaten my pudding.”

“Not to mention that situation three weeks after father’s funeral.”

“He brought that upon himself,” Sherlock said, something Sherrinford easily conceded to.

Looking between them in horror, John said, “Yeah, I’m not going.”

Obviously wounded by the comment, Sherrinford made his way over to John. Crouching down in front of him, Sherrinford cupped his cheek, the complete vision of sympathy. “Didn’t mean to intimidate you, love. Honestly, we aren’t that bad. And I would appreciate you there. Sherlock would too.”

“I’m not going,” Sherlock reminded his brother.

“Sherlock, I’ll have your DI, John and mummy,” Sherrinford said, turning on Sherlock with a viciousness that John only tended to relate to Sherlock. “Considering that you’ve only had eight friends in your entire life despite your hundreds of acquaintances and that you’re the horribly spoiled baby that can do no wrong, I’m fairly certain you’ll cave, or would you prefer I verbally map you through your usual process of giving in? Childish sulking and all?

Watching the way Sherlock gripped his bow tightly, John honestly wished that he had just left the room because he was certain being anywhere near the two brothers was about as safe as standing in the middle of a battlefield. Sherlock looked as though he could kill with those narrowed ice, cold blue eyes, but Sherrinford’s refusal to move a muscle, all but daring Sherlock to make the first move walked the line between bravery and stupidity better than John ever had.

Clenching his jaw, Sherlock eventually rose, storming off to his room without a word. The moment the door was shut with a bit more force than necessary, Sherrinford visibly relaxed, eyes on John once again as he smiled rather happily, as though he hadn’t jut been in the midst of some Cold War with Sherlock.

“Wow. That was cruel and yet a bit satisfying,” John said, hating himself for being a bit impressed.

After all, Sherlock had left without so much as a cruel word and Sherrinford was still crouched in front him, waving it off as though it was a perfectly normal thing. “Someone has to know how to handle him. And given the fact that Mycroft treats him like mummy does, the task fell upon my shoulders.”

“Are you saying Mycroft babies Sherlock?”

“Horribly so. You’ve never noticed that?” Sherrinford questioned.

“Yeah, no. Because, see, I’ve seen them interact and there’s rivalry and petulance but—“

“Mycroft gives him special little cases, used to indulge his smoking habit, always watching over him instead of letting him learn a thing or two about consequences,” he said.

“And you don’t do that,” John said, having a hard time believing anything Sherrinford said.

It may have been hard to deny his claims about Mycroft, when put in that way, but John couldn’t imagine that the nice guy he’d been seeing was anything close to strict or unwavering. Well, that standoff with Sherlock aside.

Laughing, Sherrinford rose to his feet, rubbing at his knees, which had to be hurting him after crouching for so long. “Sherlock is off in his room sulking because of me.”

“And that is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t say that too loudly. He’ll be even more jealous if he was to hear. So, coming to meet mummy?”

“I suppose, I mean, if Sherlock’s going,” he said, shrugging it off, since it seemed like he would be forced into saying yes sooner or later.

Frowning, Sherrinford shook his head. “Forget I ever asked. Stay here.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you coming because you feel the need to watch over Sherlock,” Sherrinford said angrily. “He’ll be surrounded by four parental figures in his life, one of them being his mother, you presence won’t be required.”

Rising to his feet as well, John glared at him, jamming a finger against e man’s chest. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you ask me to come?”

“Yes, but not for Sherlock’s sake,” Sherrinford said, smacking his hand away.

“Ford, you are an impossible arse.”

“Fairly synonymous with my last name or have you not noticed that?”

The urge to hit the smug bastard also seemed to be something that the Holmes family had mastered, John thought as he clenched his fist as his side. How two grown men could be so self centred and pompous was beyond him.

“I’m coming. And not just for Sherlock, but because after four months of you lying to me—“

“Omitting facts,” Sherrinford corrected.

“Omitting that you happen to be my flatmate’s eldest brother is a pretty big thing, for the record. But in spite of that, I still like you and it’s almost impossible to find someone who isn’t scared off by Sherlock or my...”

“Relationship?”

“Duties.”

“Loyalties.”

“Right, fine,” John agreed, unwilling to argue over his word choice as well. “Someone who isn’t scared off by loyalties to him. I’m not letting him or you ruin this. I’m going to meet your mum and sometime in the future, you’ll meet my family. And we’ll be disgustingly happy for the rest of our lives.”

Still looking for all the world as though he was willing to call things off, Sherrinford dropped his hands to his side before nodding in agreement all too easily. “That’s rather touching, actually. Mummy will adore you, I’m certain.”

“God, I hope so,” John said, too tired to even question what it was that had just happened.

Closing the small distance between them, he merely leaned against Sherrinford, once again pondering over his life choices and how he had wound up in this completely insane situation. Wrapping his arms around him, Sherrinford kissed his cheek, in what John could only hope was an apology.

“You shouldn’t worry. She’s a kind woman.”

“You said Mycroft takes after her.”

“In regards to Sherlock. Really, she wouldn’t hurt a...” Tensing at that, Sherrinford stepped back, hands resting on John’s shoulder. Looking him over, he smiled politely and patted him like someone sending a man to his death. “Well, you’ll be fine. After all, she’s very accepting. Never once made Gregory feel out of place and even took quite the interest in his marital status. “

“...You’re hiding something from me.”

“I have reservations, due in part to Mycroft, at a very lovely restaurant that would require you to be dressed in something a bit more... formal than your very lovely jumper.”

And while John knew a subject change when he heard one, he couldn’t see anything particularly wrong with his jump. At least not in comparison to the shirt and jeans Sherrinford had on under his coat.

“You’re not dressed any better than I am.”

“There’s a shop we’ll be stopping by on the way there.”

“Mycroft get you a tailored suit as well?” John teased.

“God, no,” Sherrinford laughed. “That’s my own doing. Lovely man, Mr. Cropper. You really should meet him.”

“I should meet your tailor? Is there anyone you know that I shouldn’t meet? Or was that just a dig at my choice of clothing?”

“Mrs. Simmons,” he said quickly. “Lovely woman who runs a little shop back home. Makes wonderful biscuits. Always hated Sherlock and myself after that fiasco with her cat Mittens. Honestly, it was an accident.”

“Right, I don’t want to know. I’m just going to get dressed and meet you back down here.”

“It wasn’t... There was no way of knowing that would happen.”

But the woeful look on Sherrinford’s face was enough to convince John that anything that happened with the cat and Mrs. Whatever-Her-Name-Was wasn’t something he wanted to know. It was best left between Sherlock and Sherrinford.

So, lifting a hand to silence the man, he began to head to his own room saying, “No. Stop it. Stop talking.”

“To be fair, Mittens lived a perfectly lovely life with half a tail. And we were sorry,” Sherrinford called after him.

Stopping at the doorway, John gripped the door jamb. Fighting against his curiosity, he shook his head before continuing on his way. Making it up to the first step, he quickly turned around before stopping in the door way again. Opening his mouth, he sighed before saying, “I’m going to get dressed. You go talk to Sherlock. I’ll be back down before he settles on a method of killing you.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Watson,” Sherrinford, giving him a playful salute. “I’ll just go talk to him about Mittens.”

Nodding, John quickly headed upstairs, knowing that if he didn’t, he would spending his time listening to what he was certain would be the worse cat tale he’d ever heard. Wincing at his own pun, he went to his room, knowing that he had made one good decision that day. Time would only tell if his decision to spend time with the Holmes brothers and their mum would be as good of an idea. Although, he was fairly certain that it really wouldn't be.


End file.
